


The Watford Mistletoe Tree

by Rainbow_Volcano



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Mistletoe, POV Ebeneza "Ebb" Petty, POV Penelope Bunce, POV Simon Snow, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Simon is also gay for Baz but he doesn't figure that out til halfway through lol, SnowBaz, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow, kissing under the mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 02:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22028692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainbow_Volcano/pseuds/Rainbow_Volcano
Summary: Every year on December 1st, a mistletoe tree is planted in the courtyard of Watford School of Magicks. Simon plans to kiss Agatha beneath the tree on the winter solstice, but Baz has a plot to keep that from happening. Well, more like a spur-of-the-moment-fit-of-jealousy, but Snow doesn't need to know that. All he needs to know is that he won't be able to kiss Agatha if Baz is already there.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 6
Kudos: 250





	1. Prologue - The Snogging Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, yes, I *know* it's past Christmas. But I didn't have a chance to finish this until now. If anyone's still in the holiday spirit, at all, I hope you enjoy the story I've got. It's a little tropey, a little campy, with lots of fluff and dramatic gay boys in love. Also Penelope's lowkey a badass, and Ebb is much wiser than people give her credit for. 
> 
> I imagine this story takes place either seventh year or in an alternative 8th year. Don't think about it too hard.

PENELOPE

It’s December 1st again, which means we get to partake in the world’s stupidest Christmas tradition: planting a mistletoe tree.

The tree itself isn’t the problem. I actually quite like mistletoe. But everyone else goes berserk around it. When the tree is fully grown, teenagers flock to it like flies to honey. Couples snog, friends make bets, groups force each other under and try everything they can to play pranks and one upping each other. It’s insufferable.

Mistletoe is magical, of course, but not in the way the media would have you believe. It washes away feelings of anger, anxiety, and fear. When the tree is in full bloom, on the winter solstice, its effects are the most powerful, rendering you literally unable to feel negative emotions when you’re underneath it. The berries grow in large clusters that pepper the branches, and when it snows it looks like the tree is covered in hundreds of over-sized cotton balls.

Like with all private schools, the rumors are endless. If you kiss someone on the solstice under the tree, then it means you’re soulmates. You have to kiss the first person you see. If you cut off one of the branches, you’re doomed to die alone. Rubbish like that. None of them are true of course, but Simon believes every single one. I keep telling him that those were rumors started by older students to trick the younger ones, perpetuated over the years, but he’s too caught up in the mythos.

Mistletoe trees are supposed to ward off demons and evil creatures, at least they did when Watford was first founded. Now it’s more decoration than anything. I admit, I’m guilty of stopping under the tree approaching finals if I ever feel too stressed. The relief is instant. It’s a better pick-me-up than a hot cup of tea.

Simon’s never been under, but not for lack of want. At first, it was the novelty. Then, he started wanting to go with Agatha. He’s tried every year to convince her to join him and she always declines.

Since he and Agatha have just broken up this year, I’m hoping for a more peaceful December.


	2. Chapter 1- December 1st

SIMON

Penny can say what she wants about the mistletoe tree, but I know it’s magic.

Not like, literal magic. Because no one’s arguing that point. But figurative magic. Because every time I thought Agatha and I were over, I’d mention the tree and she’d kiss me before we even got there, and I’d know that I’d get to go to her house for Christmas.

This year won’t be any different.

The last day of classes is the 20th, so most students leave the day after, on the solstice. When the tree is at its most powerful. Agatha’s planning on leaving then, too, so we’ll make up that day and I’ll go home with her to stay for the holidays. I’m cutting it a little close this year, but whoever you kiss on the solstice is your soulmate, and I need to prove that we belong together.

Of course, all this is provided that Baz doesn’t interfere again.

He’s especially plot-y around Christmas, always trying to get in between Agatha and me. He comes up with sneaky and clever ways to drive us apart and it’s infuriating (For so many reasons. Not the least of which because we drive ourselves apart just fine without his interfering).

I suppose if he succeeds and everything does completely fall apart, I can always stay with Penny. But their home is already stuffed full, and I think some of her sisters are bringing home boyfriends, not to mention the question of whether or not Premal is coming home. I don’t want to be another variable that they have to account for.

So, that makes Baz my last hope. The last obstacle between me and a lovely Christmas holiday. 

All I have to do is convince Baz not to be a total prick.

I’d have better chances fighting the Humdrum blind.

BAZ

Snow enters our room with a storm, all worked up over something. I pretend not to notice him at all, staring even closer at the homework at my desk. But of course, he’s Simon bloody Snow, and he’s not someone you can simply ignore. At least, I can’t.

“Baz.” He states, breathless. I continue not looking at him a moment longer, just to piss him off, and I can see that it’s worked when I look up.

“Ever heard of knocking?” I ask, pulling my gaze away from him. An astronomical feat, but I make it look like it was the opposite.

“It’s my room.”

“Yes, yours _and_ mine. The way you act you’d think you were raised in a barn. Were you, actually? I’ve never thought to ask.”

“Merlin, do you have to be the biggest prick on the planet?”

“Yes, in fact, I believe if I don’t my heart may very well stop beating.”

“Good, then stop being a prick. You’ll be doing me two favors.”

I smirk. “Now, why would I do any favors for you, let alone two of them?”

He exhales gallons of frustration from his lungs, and sinks into the foot of his bed. Finally I look over at him, out of the corner of my eye. He looks…wilted. Like he’s spent too long in the sun without water, like he was supposed to get water a long time ago and no one ever bothered to give it to him.

“Please?” he says quietly.

It’s not my job to water this pathetic plant. Isn’t that what he has Wellbelove for? So she can shower him with kisses and praises and fond touches and everything I’ve ever wanted to do? Why is he acting suddenly like he needs me?

The curiosity (and foolish, foolish desire) win, and I sigh. “Fine, what is it?”

He perks up immediately, face alight with hope and relief. It’s dazzling. I hate it.

“Thanks, Baz. Okay, I need you to do this: Don’t come between me and Agatha.”

Fuck me.

“I beg your pardon?” I say instead.

“I know you’re always plotting something around Christmas. But this year, I really need us to be solid. If we’re not, I don’t have a place to go for the holiday.”

I’m about to say something, but he continues before I can. “After we get back, I promise, you can do whatever you want! Plots, schemes, whatever, do it all. After Christmas, if she wants you more than me, then that’s her choice, but before then I need us to be together.”

What the hell? “You’re telling me you only want to be her date for the holidays?”

“No, I mean…look, I always spend Christmas with the Wellbeloves, but if we’re not dating there’s no way she’d let me come. So we have to get together before then.”

“Do you hear yourself right now? The reason you want to get back together with Agatha is so you can have a date for Christmas?” I’m trying so hard to keep the joy from my voice, but honestly? How can I? When the boy I fancy is telling me he’s not interested in dating his ex-girlfriend?

He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “It sounds really shallow, I know.”

“Why does this matter to you so much anyways?”

He scoffs at me, his face forming a half-sneer. I’m tempted to sneer right back, just to prove that mine are better. “You don’t get it.” He stands up from the bed and walks around to the window, opening it up and letting in the blasted chill. “You have a fancy house you can go home to, and dozens of people who want you. You’re welcome with the Pitches, you’re welcome with the Grimms. You have two families. And I…”

He can’t bring himself to finish that sentence.

So I do it for him. “You have nothing.”

He shoots a look my way, but it’s not exactly poisoned. Just, tired. “Yeah.”

For a moment, we stare at each other. Simon Snow, the Chosen One, wasn’t even chosen by his own parents. And now, he’s not even chosen by his own girlfriend.

I would choose him. I would choose him 1,000 times and then 1,000 more. I’d choose him until the concept of choices didn’t exist anymore.

After a bit more staring (I’m indulging myself, it’s the closest to a Christmas present I’ll get from him), I stand. “So you want me not to interfere with you and Wellbelove’s relationship until after Christmas, and then when you return I can interfere as much as I please?”

He swallows, then nods. “I think it’s only fair. Right? You wouldn’t agree if there wasn’t anything in it for you.”

Right, because I’m a greedy selfish jerk. “Right.”

He holds out his hand. “So do we have a deal?”

I take it, deciding not to think about the shape of his fingers or the warmth of his skin or the softness of his palm compared to my course and calloused one. I decide not to acknowledge the electricity his hand sends into my arm, and I am most certainly not thinking about how it would be to have this hand on other areas of my body.

I pull out my wand and cast **An Englishman’s word is his bond** , letting the magic surge through our hands. The moment the spell is done, he drops my hand, and I realize that may be the only time he’ll ever hold me so gently.

He nods, and heads back towards the door. I suppose that was his only business here. I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted. Maybe both.

I set to closing the godforsaken window that he opened, and as I do he reaches the doorway and pauses in the jamb.

“Baz,” he calls. I swallow the piece of my heart that leaps into my throat. “Thank you. Really. I can’t tell you how much this means.”

Aleister Crowley. I might faint. If I do, would he catch me?

“Think nothing of it,” I say, with an embarrassingly dry throat.

He nods, then finally leaves, closing the door behind him. With Snow gone I feel like I can breathe again.

Don’t interfere. That’s all. Until Christmas. 24 days, 20 if you’re only counting the days they’ll actually be at Watford for me to interfere with.

It won’t be hard. Their relationship is rocky at best and positively toxic at worst. Simply staying out of the way might be enough to keep them apart for good. Of course, their on-again off-again always seems to come back on after it’s gone off, so I’m not certain I can trust fate alone to be my ally.

Twenty days, how difficult can it be?

As I reach to shut the window, I look out, and catch a glimpse of a crowd in the center of the courtyard. They’re gathering around the Minotaur and the Mage, who are planting the annual mistletoe tree.

The mistletoe tree.

Shit. Shit. _SHIT._


	3. Chapter 2 - Under the Mistletoe

SIMON

Today’s the day.

Solstices are always a little special for magicians, but this one is critical for me. Today I meet Agatha under the mistletoe tree, the magic makes us fall in love, and we spend Christmas together just like we always do.

Penny’s told me over and over that my plan is ridiculous, that the mistletoe’s magic doesn’t work how I think it does, but she doesn’t understand. It has to.

Baz has upheld his end of the bargain, and honestly these past twenty days have been pretty civil between the two of us. He’s suspiciously eager to hear the details of how Agatha and I’s relationship has developed, but there’s no development to tell of. Other than that, I’d almost say we’ve actually gotten along.

We’ll exchange greetings at night after classes, and he’s even helped me out on a few homework questions. And if I catch his eye in class or in the hallway, he doesn’t automatically sneer at me anymore. Which doesn’t sound like much of an improvement, but it definitely feels like one.

It’s been 20 days and Agatha has refused to even have a proper conversation with me. (I think _Baz_ and I have been having better conversations). But that ends today. I’ve told her to meet me in the courtyard before she leaves today, and she’s agreed, so now it’s only a matter of time.

Penny walks me to the courtyard, and for a bit we stand on the lawn observing the crowds. Students are standing and sitting and saying tearful goodbyes before streaming out of the front gate. Even more students are lurking around the mistletoe tree, and I’d say they look ridiculous if I wasn’t one of them. So far, the space beneath the tree remains completely bare.

“Why is no one under the tree?” I ask. Penny shrugs.

“Once you’re under, you don’t tend to want to come out. Most people want to leave today.”

“But the tree’s at its most powerful right now,” I argue.

“Exactly.”

I don’t think that alone would be enough to dissuade teenagers (in fact, I think it should encourage them if anything), but Penelope seems convinced. I take another look at the mistletoe lurkers, and many of them are whispering and glaring, some pointing.

“Are they looking at something?”

“Um, the tree?”

I roll my eyes. “No, no. Underneath it. Is someone there?”

Penny starts to shake her head, but then she stops, something catching her eye. She grabs my wrist and walks me around to the far side. Once we’re there, a single figure leans against the trunk of the tree, composed and cool.

My jaw drops.

“Baz!?”

BAZ

Standing under the tree was a bloody good idea.

Even if it meant waking up at 5 in the morning just to ensure I’d be the first and only one under it.

This isn’t interfering, not exactly. If he’d told me what his plan was, then perhaps. But even if he had told me, there’s plenty of room for them underneath the tree if they so desire. I’m not interfering directly with anything.

The rumor of course is that you have to kiss whoever’s standing under the tree, and so long as no one wants to kiss me, I’m perfectly safe.

I may have also cast a few spells. Specifically, **Diamond in the rough** , which only allows those who I deem worthy under the tree with me. Either no one’s been able to determine my spell to think of a counter, or no one’s dared attempt to come under anyways. Whichever it is, I’m completely satisfied.

It’s nice being the sole proprietor of the romance tree.

I lean back against the trunk, reveling in all of the dirty glares. Dev and Niall left last night, so no one here can judge me for being a lovelorn fool. Just a massive prick. I’d much prefer to be seen as the latter. At least as a prick, Snow will give me attention.

Speaking of Snow, I catch him exiting the dining hall with Bunce at his side. He walks right past me, and for a moment I can feel him glaring a hole through the trunk, into my back. Then he rounds the corner, and the sunlight catches in his hair, and he’s glowing. Ethereal.

That might be the mistletoe talking. He’s so bloody beautiful.

Normally this is the time where I would get furious. With myself, with the world, with Snow. But I just can’t seem to summon up the anger. It’s a beautiful warm morning, and there’s so little sunlight today but Simon Snow is soaking it all up in his golden curls.

Now that I’m not angry, I don’t really know how to process my feelings. They’re going to spill out all over me, but I don’t seem to be afraid of that either. Damn romance tree.

“Baz!?” he sputters, jaw dropping nearly to his collarbone. He’s so adorable I can’t resist toying with him.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Simon Snow.”

“What…what the hell are you doing?”

Stalking out the best snogging spot on campus so you can’t use it, secretly hoping you’ll reconsider your choice of significant other. Why, what does it look like?

“Resting,” I reply casually. He works himself all up into a fit and I can’t help laughing.

“We had a deal!” he cries.

“I don’t see how me resting has anything to do with you and Wellbelove’s relationship,” I reply, deciding to casually inspect my nails for show.

“You know damn well that it does.”

“How, pray tell?”

“You’re taking up the whole goddamn tree!”

I roll my eyes. “Please, there’s plenty of room for others under here.”

He looks ready to throw a punch, but Bunce wraps an arm around his. “Come on, Simon, leave it. Let’s go.”

Bunce tugs on his arm, but his gaze doesn’t leave mine. Good. I need him to keep bantering with me.

“A question for you, Snow, before you go.”

Bunce glares at me, knowing it’s a trap, but Snow falls right in anyways. “What is it?”

“Did Wellbelove break up with you before or after she learned you were a failed magician?”

“What the fuck is your problem? Failed magician? I passed all of my classes, and saved your sorry arse from the Humdrum multiple times!”

He really has, hasn’t he? He’s so good at playing the hero that sometimes I forget he truly is one. “Passed, did you? Congratulations! I didn’t know you had it in you!”

He grits his teeth at me, and I can smell the faintest hint of smoke in the air. I’m not sure if they’ve realized it yet, but Snow’s getting riled up enough to go off.

“Why are you doing this? You made a promise. We had a deal! And this past month, we’ve been, well…civil, I dunno, friendly? What happened to all of that?”

He’s more hung up on the idea that I broke his promise than the idea that he won’t kiss Wellbelove. Is it wrong that this gives me a surge of hope?

“Face the truth, Snow. If you need a magical kiss to fix your relationship, it’s not worth saving in the first place.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Baz!”

He’s really hung up on that, isn’t he?

“In truth, I don’t need to interfere. You’re destroying the relationship well enough for the both of you. Do you really think a kiss under a tree on the solstice will save the scrap of a relationship you have left? Honestly you’re so bloody brilliant at ruining the relationship, I can’t help but wonder if you really want it after all!”

He’s pulsing. He’s seething. The air around him is hazy and blurry.

In all honesty, I don’t know where the words came from. The mistletoe forces you to feel relaxed, and in some people that makes them tranquil. I suppose it makes me honest. Or an even bigger prat. Maybe I’m just most comfortable when I’m insulting Simon Snow.

He takes in a deep breath, dramatic and full and dangerous. Even Bunce has stepped a meter back. “I swear to Merlin, Baz. I’m going to throttle your fucking neck!”

I smirk. “Do it, then, coward. You won’t dare come near me.”

And to my delight, he does.

SIMON

I hate him I hate him I hate him.

My hands are outstretched, my magic is pulsing hot in my veins, and everything smells like smoke. All I can see as I rush towards the mistletoe tree is Baz. Baz and his smarmy smirk, Baz and his perfect hair and perfect eyes, Baz Baz Baz Baz _Baz._

I hate that he’s right. I am pretty good at screwing things up between Agatha and I. Our relationship is so all over the place, I have to keep looking for bits and pieces of it like a scavenger hunt. Hell, I have a more consistent relationship with Baz. At least I know how I feel about him.

I hate him.

This one thought is playing on repeat as I stalk across the courtyard, every second bringing him closer, making him fill up more of my field of vision. He looks more perfect the closer I get, which makes me angrier, which makes me run faster, which makes him more perfect faster.

Finally I’ve reached Baz, just at the edge of the tree. From this close, I can see he’s a little scared. There’s no anathema in the courtyard.

I wrap my fingers around his throat, but the moment I do, something washes over me.

It’s the mistletoe tree. Its magic is cool and sweet like an autumn breeze, bathing me in a soothing shower that envelops my whole body. My magic instantly evens out, the smoke evaporates from the air. All I can see is Baz.

Baz and his parted lips, Baz and his silky hair and murky grey eyes, Baz Baz Baz Baz,

_Baz._

I pull my fingers off of his throat and slide them to the back of his neck, where I can card them though the ends of his hair. I glide my thumbs up his cheeks so that they rest in the little dips near his eyes. Have I mentioned his eyes? Murky, I think I said, but that’s not quite right. There’s flecks of blue and green swimming around, or maybe they’re flying? The distinction is important, because if they’re swimming his eyes are sea slate, and if they’re flying his eyes are storm clouds.

Well, whichever they are, they’re bloody brilliant.

Is that the mistletoe? Making me think his eyes are storm clouds and sea slate and making my heart pound inside my skull?

I don’t know. But Baz’s eyes are grey, and his lips are parted, and his cheeks and neck are in my palms, and he’s all I can see.

I press my lips into his.

BAZ

Aleister Crowley and Merlin and spades and stars and magic.

I think I’ve died. Not like, vampire-undead type of died. Like legitimate left-this-plane-of-existence-and-lost-corporeal-form type of died.

I must have, right? Maybe I’m dreaming. This is the best dream I’ve ever had. Simon tastes like butter and brown sugar, and he’s pouring so much of himself into our kiss it feels like I’m drinking his breath, his magic.

He’s kissing me. He’s _kissing_ me. He’s kissing _me._

He pulls back for a breath, but I don’t let him stay away. Crowley this is so much better than my dreams.

I’m kissing him. He’s kissing me. He pulls back and kisses me again. Then he kisses me again.

SIMON

I may have to take back what I said about knowing how I felt about Baz.

I don’t want to think about that right now, though. He’s started kissing me back, and his hands are around my waist, and I feel like I could fly up into the atmosphere.

BAZ

At the beginning of the month, I got ridiculously attached to our handshake because I thought it was all I was ever going to get of Simon Snow.

But now he’s giving himself to me. Everything.

Even if this isn’t real, even if all of this is just the damned mistletoe, I’ll take it. If this tree makes him feel safe enough to be in my arms, this tree is a bloody fucking miracle.

SIMON

Whenever Baz pulls away, I push back in. Whenever I pull away, he pushes back in. It feels like things finally make sense. Between my hands, in my arms, this is where he needs to be. I can keep track of him here. I understand him here.

Baz keeps kissing me, and I keep waiting for him to reveal that this was all a part of his scheme and he didn’t want to kiss me. But that never comes.

An inkling of a rule about soulmates and solstices flitters into my mind, but I don’t have room to think about that. Baz is taking up every thought I have.


	4. Chapter 3 - Still on my Lips

BAZ 

I’m just starting to think that we might kiss forever when Simon steps away. I blink in confusion, opening my eyes and staring at him. Why is he so far?

He looks confused, disoriented. He squints at something past my shoulder, so I turn to follow his line of sight, and I see her.

Agatha Wellbelove.

I can’t feel dread or jealousy right now, not under the tree, but the moment I step out I’m going to be flooded with them. Right now I just feel curious. I wish I could feel angry about that fact, but again, peace-enforcing magic tree. 

Simon stares at her awhile longer, like he’s trying to remember why she’s important. I hope he doesn’t ever remember. I’m tempted to just pull him in for another kiss anyways, and I don’t see a reason why I shouldn’t, but he’s stopped looking at me.

Then he pulls away and rushes after her. 

I watch him go, watch them running away, and I’m not sure if I’m relieved or furious that I can’t feel the hollow sadness in my chest.

I look around and see the whole damn school staring gob smacked at me. Were they staring the whole time? They must have been. I think we put on a pretty good show after all.

The moment I step out from under this tree I’m going to feel mortified. But right now, I’m elated. No one else on the planet can say they’ve kissed Simon Snow under the mistletoe tree.

I don’t get much time to revel in that satisfaction before Bunce yanks on my arm and pulls me out of the tree.

The magic fades instantly, and I feel like I’ve been decked with a sack of bricks. Everyone is staring. _Everyone_. Except, of course, Simon Snow, who ran off to go snog his soon-to-be-girlfriend. And Bunce, who is leading me to Merlin knows where. Away from everyone, I hope. Away from everything.

Bad realizations come back to me slowly, like rotting sausages being added to a stew. Jealousy, over how Agatha doesn’t even want Simon but she still gets him. Anger, at how foolish and brash and stupid I was. Anguish, over the fact that Simon Snow only kissed me because the tree made him.

At least these are emotions I’m used to.

Worst of all is that as much as I should be alert to everything around me, I just can’t. I can still taste Simon, still feel him on my lips.

Bunce pulls me behind a classroom building, abandoned for the holiday. Once we’re there, she rips her arm off of mine and glares with her whole body. I return a sneer back to her. It feels good.

“Care to explain what the hell was going on back there?”

I shrug. “Snow got carried away by the tree. I don’t know why you’re blaming this on me.”

Of course, she could very easily counter that I baited him into it, making it very much my fault. And I expect her to say so. But instead she says “Do you know what you’ve done?”

Obviously I don’t. I’m trying to pay attention but the taste of Simon Snow is still on my lips. “I don’t know, Bunce. Made an arse of myself in front of the whole school? Ruined Snow’s chances of having a perfectly non-awkward Christmas? Angered you? What?”

She shakes her head at me in disbelief. It pisses me off. It feels good to be pissed off again.

“You don’t know how the tree works, do you?”

“It quells negative emotions. On the solstice, it keeps you from conjuring them up altogether.”

“So you _do_ know how it works, then.”

“What is this, twenty questions? What are you getting at?”

She stares at me, incredulous. Like I’m a math problem whose solution is so simple it shouldn’t be on an exam. “The tree has no power to make you kiss anyone,” she says.

“Yes, we’ve established this.”

“Which means Simon kissed you of his own free will.”

PENELOPE

Finally, I think I’ve gotten something through Baz’s thick skull.

He stares at nothing, jaw open and eyebrows up to his widow’s peak. I’m not quite sure what this revelation means. Is he astounded in a good way, or a bad way?

I let him drink in the information for a bit, but not too long. I need answers more than he does.

“So, we’re finally on the same page,” I say. He blinks at me, trying to focus. He’s awfully distracted. “Simon doesn’t know,” I explain. “I’ve tried to tell him the truth hundreds of times, but he’s convinced the tree makes you kiss people. In his mind, the tree made him want to kiss you.”

Baz chews on this information, seemingly having come back to some of his senses. Good. I don’t think I could stand having two idiots in my life.

“Snow kissed me of his own accord, but believes that he didn’t,” he summarizes.

“Right. Now the question is, why did _you_ kiss him?”

He stares at me, like he’s saying _Do you genuinely think I’m going to answer that?_ To which I want to reply, _You have no choice_.

“If you choose not to say anything, I _will_ spell the answer out of you.”

He scoffs and crosses his arms. He seems to love playing the villain for some reason, and I can’t figure out why. He kissed Simon back. So intensely that I’m not certain they didn’t bruise their mouths, and they certainly didn’t hear me calling to warn that Agatha was coming.

I don’t know what the hell is going on between them, and I absolutely don’t know what Simon was thinking. But he kissed Baz because he wanted to. As strange and surreal as that statement is, it’s true, and I need to know if Baz kissed him for the same reason or if he intends to trample over Simon’s feelings (whatever they are) (I’m not so sure he knows either).

“What’s it to you, Bunce, what my feelings are?” I roll my eyes at him. Merlin he’s obsessed with that aloof arsehole image he’s got.

“Maybe because Simon is my best friend?” His sneer falls from his face, and I think he’s starting to understand something. “Look, I don’t know what’s happening. I told Simon not to hurt you, but I certainly didn’t expect that. I don’t know why you two had a 15 minute snog-fest in the middle of the courtyard. But you did, and Simon wanted it. Now _I_ want to make sure you’re not doing this to trample all over his feelings.”

“Making sure I’m not plotting anything, you mean?”

“Call it what you want.”

He stares at me warily, like he’s trying to decide something. I hope he’s deciding he wants to tell me the truth after all (particularly because I wasn’t sure if I could come up with a spell he couldn’t counter).

“I’m going to ask you one more time: why did you kiss Simon?”

He says nothing, but I can see the gears turning in his head. He’s going through options, things to say, answers to give. There are only a select few that I’d accept without tackling him, and he knows this. More than what he says is how he says it. If he can’t convince me he’s telling the truth, I’ll tackle him anyways. Maybe I should tackle him before he says anything, just because he deserves it.

But finally, he sighs, defeated. He looks down at his hands.

“Because I wanted to.”

He looks up at me, letting me catch his eyes, and I can’t find a shred of dishonesty in them.

It’s not the first time I’ve said it today and it certainly won’t be the last: I don’t understand what the hell is going on.

But Baz is telling the truth. And it’s an answer I’ll accept.

I continue glaring at him a little longer, just to make him squirm, then decide to let it go. He has to go home, and so do I, but before then I need to find Simon. I hope he’s gotten to say everything he wanted to Agatha, because his time’s almost up.

“All right then,” I say, relaxing my stance. Baz lets out a breath.

He looks as if he wants to say something, but he can’t quite find the words. That’s alright, he’s a little out of it. Besides, I’ve gotten what I wanted from him.

“You’d better get going,” I say. “Your ride should be here any minute.”

He blinks at me owlishly, like he had his wits just a second ago but they scattered again. “Right,” he finally says. He makes to leave, but then stops, and quietly mutters out a “Thank you.” He says it so gently that I think he means it.

Now, time to find Simon.

BAZ

I’m rushing up to my room, I think, trying to finish packing, but I can’t think of anything because Simon Snow is still on my lips.

_15 minutes_ , Bunce said. Fifteen whole minutes of pure bliss. Best damned 15 minutes of my entire life.

She’s right, Aunt Fiona should be here any minute to pick me up. And I have barely packed any of my things because a week ago I planned to pack today but this morning I decided to stake out the snogging tree.

_Simon kissed you of his own free will_.

This thought makes the shampoo bottle slip out of my hand and onto my foot. I don’t think I register the pain, I don’t know if I can. Am I still under the mistletoe tree?

_Simon kissed you because he wanted to._

He _wanted_ to.

Aleister fucking Crowley.

I didn’t bring any clothes, not really, since we have the uniform, so I think everything is all packed. I don’t know though, because Simon Snow is still on my lips.

He thinks he hasn’t done it of his own volition, but that’s alright. I can’t even imagine what it would be like if he realized that he kissed me because he wanted to. I think I would die. Faint, at the very least. Then if I died afterwards it would be alright because Simon Snow kissed me of his own free will because he wanted to.

I’m out the door, luggage in hand, and I greet Fiona and store the bags in the boot. She’s asking me how the semester went, how I did on finals, if the Mage is doing anything suspicious. I try to answer as best I can, but I’m having trouble focusing.

Because Simon Snow is still on my lips. 


	5. Chapter 4 - The End of the Solstice

PENELOPE

When I find Simon, he’s withdrawn and alone.

“Simon?”

He looks up at me, and I can see his eyes are sunken and puffy. Merlin what have I missed? “How did it go?”

He gives me a half-grimace and a slow wince, and I don’t need any words to know exactly how it went.

“Well,” he begins, voice hoarse, “You won’t have to be frustrated with our on-again off-again nonsense.”

Oh, Simon. I wait, and finally I say, “You’re done, then?”

He nods. “For good.”

Oh, _Simon._

I smother him in a giant hug and he collapses against me. He’s so invincible in a fight, but with his friends he’s so vulnerable. I’d wrap him up tight in bubble wrap and keep him away from everyone if I thought it would do any good. His hands dig tightly in my back. I think he’s relieved to be holding someone who makes sense to hold.

I hold him for a bit, letting him take what he needs from me. I’m not very consoling or tender, but I am a big sister, so I’ve learned a thing or two. Sometimes you don’t have to do or say anything. Sometimes you just have to be there and let them know they’re going to be okay.

When he pulls away, he swipes at his eyes to dry them off. I grab at his hands. “Come with me for Christmas,” I insist.

He smiles weakly and shakes his head. “Thanks, Pen, but I don’t think so.”

“You’re always welcome. Mum would love to see you. And we’ll make more food than even you could eat.”

He smiles for real at that one, and for a moment I think he might come with me. But he shakes his head again. “No, I think right now I need some space.”

“There’s always space for you in our house.”

“Not the kind that I need.”

I want to force him into the car with me anyways, I want to drag him by the heels and walk all the way home if I have to. But it won’t do any good. He’s made his decision.

“You’ll have your mobile with you?” I ask. He fishes it out of his pocket and holds it up for show. “Good. Don’t let go of it all holiday, understood? And text or call any time you want. I mean it. Any time. Even if it’s early morning. I’ll call you a prat but I’ll always answer.” That’s a lie. I wouldn’t call him a prat. Because if he calls that early, it’s because he needs me, and that makes him exempt from being a prat.

“Thanks Penny.”

He looks so sad, so sunken, I just don’t know what to do. I’m not sure if I should press the issue of the tree or leave it alone or ask for more details about Agatha. I just don’t know. I want to clear the sadness of off his face, but I don’t know if I can. I really don’t want to leave him, but he said he wanted space, so maybe this is best for now.

“I’ll see if I can swing a visit out here on the 26th,” I offer. He tries to smile, the corners of his mouth not even approaching his eyes. “I just don’t want to leave you out here alone.”

“I won’t be alone. Ebb will be here.” Right, the crazy goatherd. But maybe it will be good for him, a chance to figure everything out. Just him and the December air and the goats.

We say our final goodbyes, and he waves to me as I leave. I can only hope that the next time we see each other, whatever the hell happened today makes at least a little bit more sense.

SIMON

I wave to Penny until she’s out of sight. She was the last thing about today that made any sense.

I planned to kiss my girlfriend under the mistletoe tree, but instead I kissed my nemesis. And he kissed me back, and she broke up with me.

I’m not even quite sure what happened under the tree. The magic was supposed to make you kiss someone, but I know what possession and forced-action spells feel like, and that wasn’t it. Forced action spells are horrible. They make you feel like you’re being yanked by a sharp string digging into your flesh. But the tree didn’t feel like that. It didn’t feel like puppet strings. It felt like a shower.

I wander back towards the courtyard, and now the tree is chalk full of people underneath it. Most everyone’s gone home, but I think everyone who hasn’t is stuffed under the tree. Whatever spell Baz had cast must have worn off. Maybe he didn’t even use a spell at all. Maybe he was right, that if I’d had the courage and desire, I could have just met Agatha under the tree from the start.

But he was also right in that it wouldn’t have mattered.

_“I stayed for you, Simon, because I thought you wanted me to be there. But after that display, it’s quite clear that you don’t.”_

_“I do! I do want you to be here with me! You’re important to me, Agatha!”_

_“Do you know how many times you’ve pulled away from our kisses to sneer at Baz? I should have realized sooner. Neither of you ever wanted me. I’m not certain anyone ever has.”_

I _did_ want her to be with me. I enjoy her company, and she’s a good friend. That was enough. But now, my feelings are hazier. At the very least, I didn’t want our relationship to end the way it did. Sharp and messy.

Throughout the whole break up scene with Agatha, I never once told her that I loved her. And what’s worse is that the whole time we were talking, I was thinking about Baz.

In my defense, I’ve _never_ been kissed that way before. Kisses with Agatha are tame and polite, like sweets. But Baz kissed me like I was a feast. Like a table full of turkeys and mashed potatoes and buttery crumpets and he hadn’t eaten in days. Or did I kiss him that way?

See, that’s the most confusing part about all of this. The tree made me kiss him, so one kiss, we’re done, chalk it up to magic.

But if so, why did Baz kiss me back? Why did he keep kissing me? Why didn’t he stop?

And did I even want him to?

None of these questions even make any sense, but they are making me hungry (or maybe that was my metaphor), so I head back to the dining hall.

If you kiss someone under the mistletoe tree on the solstice, it means they’re your soulmate.

_That’s_ what I was trying to remember. Penelope says that one especially, of all the rumors, is completely rubbish. I was ready to believe it this morning. But I don’t know if I’m any less ready to believe it now. Shouldn’t I be?

I suppose this is how I’ll be spending my holiday. Confused and disoriented, drifting back and forth from the dining hall to my room, with visits to Ebb interspersed between. Maybe I’ll wander the wavering wood a few times, maybe the catacombs just for a change of scenery. It’s a full month before classes begin again after all, I’ve got to do something to keep me occupied.

It would be easier to make a plan if I had a goal. If I didn’t have all of these confusing questions and feelings mulling around inside me. What would Penny do?

Research. Of course! The library must have loads of books on mistletoe, and anything else I may need to look up while I’m there. I can read and get answers, and finally start resolving all of the bollocks that’s happened.

It won’t solve my relationship with Agatha, but maybe it wasn’t meant to be solved. Or maybe this _is_ the solution. Maybe we weren’t supposed to hold on to each other for so long. I’ve known for a long time that neither of us were really in it. I’d always assumed that we’d end up together, that by the time everything was over, we would be with each other. But, as she pointed out, you don’t date someone because you think they’ll be your eventually. You date them because you want them to be your now.

Who do I want to be my now?

The mistletoe must still be affecting my brain, because all I can think of is Baz.


	6. Chapter 5 - Call Me Simon

EBB

Simon has decided to join me for a small feast, and it is probably the loveliest Christmas I’ve had in years.

I’ve made hot chocolate and cookies for the occasion. I only wanted one glass, but I made a whole cauldron full just for Simon, and I’m so glad I did. He’s a growing boy and he uses so much energy. He has to get it back somehow.

He’s been holing himself up in the library these past few days. I didn’t think he liked reading so much! He’s obsessed with that silly mistletoe tree that gets planted every year. He must fancy someone. He keeps sighing and looking longingly out the window. What a silly boy.

I’ve just refilled his glass when a lonely violin floats on the night air.

He swallows a cookie, then looks at me in confusion. “Do you hear that?”

“A performance,” I tell him.

“Are you doing this?”

I shake my head. “No, but I’m glad someone is. I think we needed a bit of music.”

He goes to the window and stares out, squinting, but he can’t see above the hill on the horizon. He sips at his hot chocolate while we listen to the notes filling the air.

The musician is exceptional, there is no question about their skill. They’re a little rusty though, I can tell, I played cello long ago. And they’re distracted.

We keep listening, then after a bit, I realize something. It all fits together now. I smile.

“Simon,” I say. “The song is for you.”

“For me?”

“The notes end with a great din, ringing out, filling up the whole sky with fire and warmth. Just like your magic.”

He considers this, and looks a little excited. I close my eyes and keep listening. “The notes begin so sharply, though, so precise. A pinprick of fire. The musician is very meticulous.” A note comes out wavering, and I frown. “And heartbroken.”

“H-heartbroken?”

I open my eyes. His attention is on me now. I think he realized he can’t see out the window. “Do you know anyone who plays the violin?”

He pauses, then nods. “Yes,” he says. “One person.”

He stares at me, and I smile. I wait. He’s not the fastest at catching on, but he always does.

The realization hits him, widening his eyes and heating his cheeks. I knew it was the one he fancied.

“Oh! Er,” he shuffles, trying to collect his wits. “I think I’d better go.”

“Do you want the rest of your hot chocolate?”

He finishes the drink in one giant gulp, then settles the glass down on his chair. He calls out a “Thanks, Ebb” and a “See you later!” and a “Happy Christmas!” all in one breath as he heads out the door.

I hope he mends the musician’s heart.

BAZ

I’m not sure if it’s because I’m a glutton for punishment or a bloody romantic, but I’ve found myself under the mistletoe tree again.

I had every intention of retrieving my violin and leaving, but I got sort of stuck here. I couldn’t very well leave, not when the house is so suffocating and I can breathe out here, so I decided to play to pass the time.

Four days ago, the kiss with Simon was the only thing that mattered. But I think going home sobered me up. Soaked up all of my hopes like a towel squeezing a paintbrush. Snow is with the Wellbeloves this very moment, probably sitting in front of a nice warm fire with her bloody mouth on his.

Now that I’ve actually felt what kisses with Simon Snow are like, things have gotten so much worse. Does he kiss her the way he kissed me? Do his hands card their way through her hair, starting at the scalp and threading all the way to the end, letting it fall through his fingers like fistfuls of sand? Do his thumbs caress the edges of her cheeks, making circles that nearly eclipse her eyelashes? Does he gasp and shudder against her skin?

I know the tree is dying because the thought makes me sick to my stomach. 

On the solstice, the tree felt like a wave engulfing me. Now it feels like a vague ocean spray at low tide. Come midnight, the tree will be dead. It’s a sad thought, and the fact that I realize this means the tree doesn’t have very much time left. 

"Baz?”

I jolt mid-note. I don’t believe it.

Standing in the snow-frosted courtyard is Simon Snow, golden curls and dimpled cheeks and all. The only light comes from the stars and the half-moon, but still he seems to glow like a fireplace.

“Simon? What are you doing here?”

He laughs a bit, and steps closer. A good distance away from the tree, but a comfortable distance for conversations. “I could ask you the same question,” he retorts gently.

I let out a dry laugh. “I was in a rush leaving and forgot the violin. After dinner, Father asked me to play, and when I realized I didn’t bring it with me, he sent me all the way out here to fetch it.”

“And you didn’t want to go back?”

It’s not everything he thinks it is. It’s not warm fuzzy happy family time. It’s stiff and awkward and every word spoken is a cover for a thousand unsaid truths. But how do you tell an orphan that a family isn’t always a good thing?

“It’s too nice of a night. Thought I’d get some practice in.” He looks up at the sky and smiles. Easily, a sweet and easy smile. I think he agrees.

“It is nice. Cold, though. A nice cold.”

“Is it? I have trouble telling. I’m always cold.”

He furrows his eyebrows and takes a step closer to me, and I’m not sure what he’s going to do. Then he cups my bow hand in his palms.

I inhale though my nostrils. Is he close enough to be under the tree? It’s dying, but I don’t know if that matters. Does him holding my hand matter? It feels like it might.

“You’re right,” he says, a little astonished. “You are cold.”

I’m not going to let him get my hopes up if he’s going to crush them again. I yank my hand out of his grasp. “You can’t just _do_ things like that,” I mutter.

He retreats a little, like a kicked puppy, and it makes me want to hold him again. “Sorry. Was that not good?”

“Why do you suddenly care? Where’s Wellbelove anyways? Why aren’t you with her?”

He rubs his arm and looks down at the snow. “She and I…we’re um, we’re done. For good.”

I’m not happy. I’m _not_. At least, I don’t want to be.

He looks up at me with a horrid half-smile. “Congrats, your interfering worked.”

I roll my eyes. “I told you, I wasn’t ‘interfering’. I was ‘resting’.”

“Well, then, your resting worked.”

I don’t really know what to say. I only did what I did because I thought it wouldn’t matter. He and Wellbelove were a picture-perfect couple, the kind that walk right out of commercials. None of what happened that day was expected. I sat under the tree because at least their kiss wouldn’t have been magic-infected. But they didn’t kiss at all. Instead, _we_ kissed.

He sighs and breaks the silence. “I’m only giving you a hard time. She intended to break up with me that day from the start. I doubt anything would have changed her mind.”

“What did you tell her?” I ask.

He gets a funny look on his face. “It was really more of what she told me. I told her I didn’t know what was happening during the kiss, but she said that I was in complete control every moment leading up to it. That if I really wanted to talk to her, I wouldn’t have let myself get riled up.”

“So you explained that the kiss was a fluke and she still didn’t believe you?”

He stares at me, but I’m staring at the ground. I hear him take a deep breath.

“That’s the thing, Baz. I’m not so sure it _was_ a fluke.”

My heart stutters. I am far too volatile to be holding a three-hundred year old instrument, so I set it gently on the ground and try not to think about anything.

“Baz, I…I know about the mistletoe tree.”

My head swivels to look at him. “You, what?”

“These past few days, I’ve been doing research. Looking at books of ancient magical traditions and yuletide spells. And trees. Merlin, the books on trees were so boring. Painfully boring. I wanted to light them on fire and toss them out the window.” I raise an eyebrow at him. Is he stalling? “Anyways. I know what it does. It’s a peace-making tree. It suppresses negative emotions when you’re underneath the branches. But that’s it. It doesn’t give you any feelings. Everything you feel under the tree is yours.”

“So that’s it then? You felt like forcing yourself onto me in the middle of the courtyard just for shits and giggles?”

“Baz. You kissed me back.”

He thinks he’s got me cornered. He’s acting like he’s got me all figured out, like he can see right through me, like my skin isn’t opaque but clear. “That doesn’t prove anything. How do you know this wasn’t all a plot? What if I also kissed you for shits and giggles?”

“You were so distracted afterwards that you forgot your violin! Isn’t that thing like a family heirloom?

“It’s not ‘like’ a family heirloom, it ‘is’ one.”

“Exactly! I bet you would have forgotten your wand too if it hadn’t been in your pocket!” He is 100% correct. It wasn’t until halfway to Hampshire that I’d even thought to check for my wand.

But I won’t let him act like he’s won. I’m supposed to be the villain in his life. I’m the archenemy, the rival, the nemesis, the bad guy. I don’t get a happy ending. “So what? So what, Snow? What does any of this matter!?” I throw as much poison in as I can manage, but it’s not nearly enough. I wonder if it’s the tree or my own softhearted idiocy.

He seems impervious to the poison, though. He just blinks at me, and then he tilts his head to the side. “You called me ‘Simon’ before.”

“What? No I didn’t.” Did I?

“When I first came up to you? You called me Simon.”

Bollocks, he’s right. “You’re wrong.” How did he even remember that? I’ll have to stop calling him ‘Simon’ in my head so it doesn’t happen again.

He takes a step closer to me. He’s so close now. I can feel his breath grazing my skin. If he moved a fraction of a centimeter closer, his nose would be under the tree. “Call me Simon again,” he requests, voice weighty and breathy and everywhere.

I can’t get anywhere with him.

“I can’t,” I state, folding my arms over my chest.

He chuckles. “Come on, you know my first name.”

“I can’t do it ‘again’ if I’ve never done it.” Childish? Idiotic? Persnickety? Yes. I’m not even surprised when he huffs and rolls his eyes at me. I am, however, surprised by the smile on his lips that follows. 

“Fine then. Call me Simon.”

His eyes are lit up by the stars. The beauty of plain colors is that they always look like the prettiest thing nearby. He won’t stop looking at me. His breath is all over the air, spilling out in every direction. He’s thinking something. I’m the one who’s supposed to be plotting but right now he’s got a mischievous catch in his starry blue eyes. It makes me unfold my arms. “Why should I?”

He sucks in a breath.

“Because if you do, I think I’ll kiss you.”

I’ve forgotten how to breathe. I don’t know if I can.

Immediately I want to yell out Simon, Simon, Simon! Will he kiss me once for every time I say his name? I should invent a song where the only lyrics are the word ‘Simon’ so that every time I sing it he’ll have no choice but to kiss me for three minutes straight. His lips are so close. I don’t know if he got closer or if I did. I try to breathe again, try to gather up my senses. “And why would I want that?” I whisper slowly, each word a struggle to form, to force out.

His eyes grow a little hesitant, and I’m terrified it means he’s reconsidering. “You kissed me back, on the solstice,” he supplies. He’s worried. Am I worried? I don’t know if I’m strong enough for any of what’s happening right now.

“Circumstantial evidence.”

“Baz, I _know_ how the tree works.”

He knows. I know he knows. He kissed me of his own free will because he wanted to, and he knows it. _I_ kissed _him_ of my own free will because I wanted to, and he knows that, too. His breath is as hot as fire, hot as his magic, hot as mine, and I’m going mad feeling it graze my lips. His blue eyes are stuffed with stars, and they look like the freckles and moles that dust his cheeks.

His hand is reaching towards me. I don’t know where he’ll put it.

“If I kiss you, will you kiss me back?”

Always. _Always._

“Try me,” I whisper, “Simon.”  
  


SIMON

The bell tower rings out the moment I press my lips onto Baz’s. I don’t register what it means right away, I’ve got a few too many things on my mind. All Baz related. Baz’s lips, chiefly, soft and thin and pressing so hard against mine that I have to clutch his shoulders to keep myself steady. Baz’s hands, Baz’s arms, the temperature of Baz’s skin as it warms to match mine.

The next time I stop to catch my breath, I realize what it means. Midnight. The tree has died. 

In all honesty, it doesn’t feel much different. I think kissing Baz suppresses negative emotions in me anyways. I didn’t need mistletoe to accomplish that.

Which is good. It means that I can kiss Baz anywhere I want now and it will feel as good as it did the very first time. Maybe, if I’m lucky, even better.


End file.
